


old grudges don't really die

by cryptidzero



Category: Dead by Daylight (Video Game)
Genre: Graphic Description, caleb tunnels, cowboy man go brr, david sucks in this kind of, i read caleb is from irish descent i go ballistic, mori used
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-01
Updated: 2020-08-01
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:47:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25655398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cryptidzero/pseuds/cryptidzero
Summary: you can take a cowboy out of his home but you can't take the prejudices out of him
Comments: 7
Kudos: 54





	old grudges don't really die

**Author's Note:**

> heyyyyyy this was another idea i brainstormed w jimmy. literal angel he is edited and cleaned up the fic and i owe him SO Much..... check him out at @BiscuitJams !! he's a good lad <3

Once the fog had cleared, Caleb opened his eyes to see good ol’ Glenvale awaiting him. With a smile, he checked the Redeemer (the survivors would call it ‘the deathtrap’ or, less excitingly so, ‘his speargun,’ but Caleb digressed) before making his way to the saloon. His ears piqued upon hearing hushed whispers. Listening closer, the faint noises of a generator being worked on were made clear. He made his way over from the back, slowly creeping up the stairs as his leg brace creaked, rusted from time and weather. The floorboards groaned under his thudding steps.

He was just about to turn the corner when he stopped, the whispers becoming loud enough for him to make out just what was being said. And so, biding his time, Caleb listened in.

  
“David, can you _please_ try and quiet down?”  
  
“For what?” Caleb’s lips pulled back in a sneer when he caught the English accent— it grated on his ears. “Some piss ol’ bellend with a shoddy gun ain’t scarin’ me.”  
  
“Well he scares _me_ , David.” his companion hissed. “He can land a _shot_. Better than Nancy, and that’s saying something.”

Caleb was quite proud to hear that. He also found it to be a relief that someone was finally trying to get _through_ to that British numbskull. With a smile, he crept closer and readied his shot. The chain of his ebony mori attached to the end of the Redeemer shined in the light of the false sunset.

“So what?” David continued, yanking at the generator. “I can take him on in a fight, I’m sure of it. Nasty old bloke ain’t got a thing on _me_.”

Caleb rolled his eyes before leaning out from his spot to take a peek. He laughed when he watched the other survivor— something along the lines of _Steve_ he was pretty sure— caught sight of him and promptly stood up from the generator and took right off.  
  
“Wh— ay! Steve! What, not scared of whatever the fuck _dog_ you brought in with ya but got your knickers in a twist over a stupid little _cowboy_ ?” David scowled after him. “I’ve seen worse in England! I’ve _fought_ worse in England! In the _rain!_ With _fists_! It was a five against one, mind you! That fucker ain’t anythin’ tougher than what I’ve seen in Manchester!”

Caleb decided he was sick of his yapping and shot him. He didn’t aim, no, but he still managed to pierce David _right_ in the chest. He cried out in surprise and was quick to fight back, but Caleb was quicker. He chuckled lowly as he reeled him in, in, in… 

David screamed when Caleb stabbed him. With the chase newly initiated, Caleb laughed, watching him scramble away as fast as he could. Blood dripped from his hands in his useless attempts to stop the blood flow.

Caleb stepped off the balcony and landed right next to the girl with the big glasses. He gave her a brief onceover, assessing her as she stared up at him in frozen fear. Then he reloaded and picked up where he left off with David.

His teeth clenched, seething with rage. This English bastard thought he knew what ‘tough’ was? A pitiful fistfight in the rain? The jab felt almost personal, hitting him in a similar way that having his inventions denied and stolen did.

Ohhh, he’d teach that cocky Brit what ‘tough’ was, one way or another.

Steve watched, fixated, as David was effortlessly shot and downed. He noticed movement over his shoulder and saw Claudette approaching. He turned back to see the Deathslinger picking David up before dumping him onto a hook. He screamed when the Deathslinger gave him another slash. Satisfied with his work, he stalked off.

“Steve!” David finally yelled, knuckles white from where they were latched onto the hook. “Come get me, you fuckin’ asshole!” 

Steve gave Claudette a sullen look. She patted his back solemnly before they both ran over, Steve lifting David off the hook and starting to heal him.

Claudette stopped when she heard the sound of boots crunching on dirt nearby. She dove to bodyblock for David so Steve could finish patching him up… Only to be shoved aside.

Stunned, she could only watch as the Deathslinger’s hand pushed her harshly to the ground before going back to his speargun. Steve shoved David to the side, crying out when he took a hit to the shoulder. Seeing his chance, David ran off in hopes of finding somewhere to hide and finish his much-needed healing. 

“You little—” the Deathslinger growled, reeling Steve closer. “The _fuck_ are ya thinkin’, ya idiot? Get out of my _way._ ” He released his spear from Steve and kicked him to the ground before making his way to where he’d seen David run.

Speaking of… where was he— _ah_.

Steve sighed when he stood back up to see David teabag near the generator they had first worked on. He flicked off the Deathslinger before hopping off the balcony and running back towards them.

“David—” he began, still bleeding.

“Get this fucker off o’ me, Harrington!” he shouted back. Steve was ready to start strangling him when David ducked behind him and shoved him forward, taking off to the other side of the map. Steve nearly stumbled head-first into the tip of a flying spearhead. Slowly, he turned to see the Deathslinger… groaning?

Astonished, he could only watch as he strode forward, picked Steve up by the collar of his shirt, and shoved his face into his. “Stop gettin’ in me way, _boy_ ,” he snarled, reloading his gun. Steve’s eyes trailed down to see the shining chain of a mori. His face went white. Seeing his expression, the Deathslinger laughed. “Isn’t for ya, my lad. Now, if ya would kindly _move aside,_ I’ll be back on that _knob_ yer so keen on _protectin’_.”

With that, the Deathslinger let go of him. Steve dropped to the ground with a gasp and watched him tip his hat in a thank you before walking off. Once he was gone, he turned to Claudette who peeked out from the crates next to him. She gave him a wide-eyed shrug upon making eye contact.

What is _with_ these survivors and takin’ a bullet for _pests_? Caleb frowned, feeling rather annoyed as he followed blood trails and loud grunts of pain. With a grin, he readied his gun. He paid no mind to the scuffle of footsteps behind him, ignoring the audience that began to gather as he approached David from behind the shacks. Slowing down for a moment, he waited, popped his jaw, and stepped out from behind the wall.

“ _Boo._ ”

Caleb shot, dragging the scrapper closer before lunging out and slashing him. He grinned and popped his jaw again as he watched him writhe on the ground, trying to recover. No chance for that.

David cried out when Caleb slammed his boot into the ground next to him, stabbing the spear of the Redeemer into his back. He hoisted him up to the sky, showing him off almost like a trophy. He stopped to let the blade sink _just_ a bit more into his flesh, his muscles, before… 

Caleb fired. The end of the spear exploded through David’s mouth. He waited a moment, waited for limbs to stop twitching and fall slack. His corpse fell upright on its knees in front of him, stagnant. With his good leg, Caleb kicked him off the spear before he stepped back and reeled it back into its barrel.

“...Christ,” Steve finally whispered to Claudette. “what did David do for the Slinger to want him dead that bad?”

“I don’t know… he didn’t even try hitting me.” Claudette frowned before waving Jake closer. He himself had been a witness to the execution from where he hid at the killer shack. The three watched as the Deathslinger spat onto David’s body, gave him a good kick in the side, and then turned away and made his way back to the bar.

“What did David do.” Jake said when he stood up to dust himself off. It wasn’t even a question.

“Honestly? That’s what we were wondering.”

They all exchanged glances after that before shrugging together. Jake turned and began walking back the way he came, Claudette following soon after. Steve, however, wanted to see just what the deal was, so, ignoring the increasing intensity of his heartbeat, he made his way back to the saloon and peered through one of the windows.

He almost laughed when he saw the Deathslinger rummaging behind the counter and pulling out what looked to be a dirt-covered bottle of whiskey. With _some_ degree of talent, he downed a good third of the alcohol in the bottle. He made a small noise of disgust when he stopped drinking before placing the bottle back on the counter.

“No good booze in this damn place…” he said under his breath. He looked up when he heard a floorboard creak. Steve stared back at him before he smiled and raised his arms in surrender. “What do ya want, brat.”

“I’m, uh…” Steve gulped, hoping he wasn’t pushing his luck with this. He was no Ace. “Well, why’d you tunnel David?”

The Slinger squinted at him. “ _Tunnel?_ What’re ya yammerin’ on about?”

“Well, _y’know_ ,” Steve made a vague motion with his hands. “target. Hunt down.”

“Ah!” The Slinger nodded in understanding. “He’s English. One of the _Brits_ . I don’t _respect_ the Brits. Not after what they’ve _done._ ”

The amount of venom in his voice made Steve almost feel bad for even asking. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to hear anything else if it might hold that same level of disgust. Then he realized just what the Slinger had said.  
  
“Wait— did you hear us talking earlier? Hear _him_ talking earlier?”

“He prats like a wench tryin’ to get into some poor sap’s pants,” the Slinger groaned, massaging his eyes. “Of _course_ I heard ‘im.” 

  
Steve couldn’t help but snort at the imagery that popped into his head— a visual of David in a barmaid’s outfit desperately trying to flirt. 

“I mean, I guess that’s fair enough.” Steve furrowed his brows. “Are you, uh… just gonna sit here? Not chase any of us?”

“Well…” Then with a dangerous glint in his eye, “Y’ain’t English, are ya?”

“No! No, no, no, no _siree_!” Steve quickly replied. “Proud American right here. Not a drop of British blood, I can guarantee.”

He didn’t get a response, but the Deathslinger turning back around was enough of an answer for him. Then they heard the ding of two generators popping. The Slinger sighed and rubbed his face with one of his hands. After a pause, he spoke again. “Name’s Caleb, by the way. Quinn.”

“Oh.” Steve thought for a moment. “Well, I’m Steve. Steve Harrington.”

“Mmm.” Caleb plopped his head onto the counter before shooing him away. Deciding he didn’t want to take the chances and get on his bad side, Steve left.

“Steve!” Claudette yelled, running towards him. “Jake found a key, let’s just find the hatch and get out—”

“You guys go find it without me, I’m gonna grab something before we’re off.” 

Claudette frowned at that. “You’re gonna grab something? What could you—”

“You’ll see, you’ll see!” Steve called back, already returning to the saloon. “Just look for the hatch and find me back here!”

Claudette gave him a look before turning away to scout the grassy areas around her. Seeing Jake, she called, “Steve said to find him before we open hatch!” Jake nodded back before continuing his search.

As they looked, Steve snuck back into the saloon. The loud snores from Caleb only helped to fuel his hope. This time, he stepped around the creaky floorboard before perching himself on a stool right next to him and watching the door for any signs of Claudette.

Jake appeared instead. He waved his hand in a silent motion to leave. Then, like the absolute fool he was, Steve snatched the hat off Caleb’s head and bolted out. He gave a thumbs up to Jake’s look of disbelief and horror.

Caleb _immediately_ woke from his nap. Upon realizing what had just happened, he swore loudly and grabbed his gun before storming out and tracking scratch marks that led to the end of the street.

“ _Harrington!_ ” he bellowed, aiming the Redeemer to fire before watching in absolute _fury_ as the insolent little boy opened the hatch and hopped inside. He even— he _waved!_ He smiled at him and _waved_ as he held his damn hat to his head! The other two followed soon after, and Caleb would have thrown the Redeemer to the ground if it weren’t for the Entity’s fog engulfing him. 

When it parted for him to see Glenvale, Caleb put his head in his hands and sighed.

Damn brat. He was rightfully upset about losing his hat, but if he was lucky enough, he might be able to devise a plan to steal it back. The Entity might also feel a little merciful and simply take it away from the boy to give back to him, but after his performance in this trial? He doubted it.

Even then, as Caleb sat there stewing in his anger, he didn’t think he would have the… _heart_ to bring an offering to murder the boy for it. As stupid as it was, the incident reminded him too much of one of his lackeys trying the same prank on him many… _many_ years ago.

Caleb cursed, reaching up to throw his hat on the ground. When he grasped on air, he slapped the dirt instead. 

Damn brats… they really were just the _worst_.


End file.
